


The Power of Fiction

by creativityandcoffee



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 05:36:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18685192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativityandcoffee/pseuds/creativityandcoffee
Summary: Eliot comforts Q after the book he's reading ends in an unexpected way.





	The Power of Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> A Queliot ficlet for those who are still struggling with the finale. Here’s hoping El being there for Q will brighten up your day a little!

Eliot becomes concerned as soon as he walks through the door and sees that Quentin isn’t there. Since they’d gotten this house together, Quentin had started greeting Eliot at the door every day when he got home. For the year since they’ve moved in, there’s  _never_  been a day when Quentin hasn’t been there to kiss Eliot hello.

As Eliot hangs his jacket by the door and starts to make his way to the kitchen, he hears the faint, but unmistakable, sound of crying.

More specifically, he hears the sound of _his Q_ crying. 

That makes him walk faster.

He finds Quentin curled up on their bed, still in his pajamas. (He’d had a day off from work today, and had vowed this morning to not put on normal clothes for the whole day, if he could help it. Eliot had laughed then, but now he wondered if Q spending the whole day like this had really been the best idea.) 

Quentin is sobbing quietly to himself, so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hasn’t even noticed Eliot’s presence. In his hand he’s clutching a book—the last in the series that Q has been reading, Eliot realizes. 

He had picked up the first book for Q a few months back, hoping to replace the void that rejecting the  _Fillory and Further_  books had left in Q’s happiness. Apparently Eliot had made a good choice, because Q had been blazing through the twelve-book series ever since he finished the first volume.

But Eliot has never seen these books make Q cry. In fact, the whole reason he chose this series in the first place was due to its reputation for being fairly optimistic, while also accepting some of reality’s harsher truths.

It’s only when Eliot sits down on the bed next to Quentin that the other man looks up, realizing where he is and who’s with him. 

“Oh! You’re home,” Quentin says, wiping his eyes and struggling to put on a smile.  _Eliot didn’t deserve to deal with him like this. And besides, he shouldn’t even be this upset…_

Eliot places a hand under his boyfriend’s chin, guiding Q’s face up until he can look into Q’s eyes, still brimming with tears. Then Eliot leans forward and places a gentle kiss on his forehead.

He can hear Q’s breath stutter, hear the quiet sobbing start up again; he pulls away and opens his arms wide, in an invitation that Quentin happily accepts, falling into Eliot’s familiar embrace. Eliot leans back on the headboard and Quentin curls in closer, burying his face in Eliot’s chest, like he’s done so many times before. 

After a few minutes, Eliot decides it’s time to say something. 

“Q, baby, what happened?” Eliot asks. His tone is so caring, so full of concern, that it makes Quentin’s heart skip a beat. He’s been with Eliot for almost two years now, and yet he’s still charmed by Eliot’s overwhelming affection for him. 

“It was…” Quentin begins, stopping before he can finish. He almost says “It was nothing,” but—considering that Eliot had found him as a weeping mess not five minutes ago, he doesn’t think Eliot will accept that answer.

Eliot keeps running gentle fingers through Quentin’s hair, patiently waiting for the other man to finish his thought. Quentin takes a moment to appreciate the touch before continuing. 

“I finished the books,” Quentin starts. He vaguely gestures to the book lying on the bed and the series’ eleven other novels, which sit on their own shelf of the bookcase, right at eye level. The dark blue book covers and their gold-green accents have become a very familiar sight to both of them. 

“I finished the books, and… well, the ending was… well, it’s—not what I had hoped it would be,” Quentin continues. He’s determined now to get his thoughts out, even if he has to be ineloquent to do it. 

Eliot’s chest rises a little higher as he takes a deep breath; Quentin can feel the other man’s heart, its steadying beat. 

“There’s this character, uh—her name is Taura—and she’s, I guess, the protagonist of the whole story—though it’s kind of an ensemble cast,” Quentin rambles, trying to explain it all. Eliot’s fingers move down Quentin’s face and lead his gaze upwards; Eliot smiles softy at him.

“Q, I know who Taura is. You talk about her all the time, and I did read the first two books, so… don’t worry about explaining who she is,” he says. Quentin nods ( _of course El knows who Taura is!_ ) and settles back down, silently pleased when he feels Eliot’s fingers start combing through his hair again.

“Well, Taura is my favorite character in the books—as you know,” Quentin says, glancing up quickly at Eliot before continuing. “It’s just that I… see a lot of myself in her. And seeing her get through her struggles is—comforting. And encouraging. Like if she can do it, then I can do it too, you know?” 

Eliot hums in reply; Quentin takes a steadying breath.

“Well… it turns out that, in this last book… Taura doesn’t make it,” Quentin says. A wave of relief flows through him as he finally admits what had made him cry. “She ends up sacrificing herself so that everyone else can escape unharmed. A true hero’s death.” 

Eliot’s fingers stop moving, and Quentin can sense the tension in Eliot’s body.

“El?” Quentin asks, craning his head to look at Eliot’s face. 

Eliot looks back at him with sympathy in his eyes. 

“Q, that’s… that’s  _awful_ ,” Eliot says, not quite sure how to put it. Clearly it’s  _worse_  than awful, since it made Q  _cry_ , but—what was the word for it?

“Yeah, but, I’ll—I’ll be over it soon,” Quentin says, trying to sound nonchalant.  _He would be over it soon, right? He’d cried, sure, but now he could just forget about this series and move on._

“You don’t need to be over it soon,” Eliot replies. 

At that, Quentin lifts himself off of Eliot’s chest and moves to lean against the headboard, next to the other man. He stares at Eliot with a look of confusion.

“It’s just some book series. I can, and probably should, just move on. Hell, I probably shouldn’t have even cried at all,” Quentin says, half to Eliot and half to himself.  _Why is he still so childish with these things? How is he a full-fledged adult and still crying his heart out over books?_

Quentin is about to continue speaking, but Eliot’s fingers on his lips stop him.

“Q. Listen to me. The most beautiful thing about you is the fact that you care about so many things, and so much. Before you knew how shitty Fillory really is, you  _loved_  that place. You  _loved_ those books. And the way you love things, whether they’re people, or magic, or made-up stories, is what made me fall in love with  _you._ ”

Quentin feels a blush rising to his face; Eliot continues. 

“There’s nothing wrong with the way you love stories. There’s nothing wrong with the way you got attached to Taura. You care about things so deeply, it’s like those characters are real for you. I’ve never figured out to connect with books that way, but  _you_ —you do it so well. You spent all of this time with Taura; you read  _all twelve_  of these books, and got to know her better in each one. And now she’s gone, and with what sounds like a horrible ending. And guess what?  _It’s okay to feel sad about it._  I would  _never_  judge you for that.  _Never_.” 

There’s so much adoration and gratitude welling up inside him that Quentin doesn’t know how to react. So he does what he tends to do, now, when he has no words; he pulls Eliot close and kisses his boyfriend, hoping to convey all of the love residing in his heart.


End file.
